#gutenberg galaxy

[thirdity]

When technology extends one of our senses, a new translation of culture occurs as swiftly as the new technology is interiorized.

Marshall McLuhan, The Gutenberg Galaxy

[homenecromancer]

I intend to post the full text of this story at some point, but there’s a whole lot of formatting I would need to manually copy over, and I am not doing that right now. So here is a radio play of Frederick Pohl’s “The Tunnel Under The World”.

(If you can’t access this, or it isn’t loading, this is X Minus One, episode 42.)

The radio play aired on March 14th, 1956, just over a year after the short story was published in Galaxy Science Fiction. Not every story in Galaxy (or in Astounding Science Fiction, which also provided stories for X Minus One) got adapted for radio. Many of those that did are either classics in their own right — such as “Cold Equations” or “There Will Come Soft Rains” — or are by classic science fiction authors — such as Fritz Leiber, Isaac Asimov, L. Sprague du Camp, or Robert Heinlein. But boy are there some clunkers in the bunch.

This story isn’t bad. It passes the time. Its construction makes sense, and the plot moves along quickly. There are just, like, two plot twists too many for me, and the whole thing consequently feels overstuffed — the small amount of charm it has for me is in exactly that quality, because I do find it fun when an author seems to just be throwing all their ideas in at one time.

So… why talk about a story I don’t like very much? Well, this is the worst story I intend to actually post about — there’s a whole lot of stuff on Project Gutenberg I clicked on, rolled my eyes at, and closed the tab. This is not the worst that’s out there, not by a long shot. And in its pervasive sense of paranoia, it does serve a couple of valuable purposes:

1. You could probably use this to demonstrate to a class what exactly people mean when they say “People were, indeed, paranoid about Communists hiding in their communities for a hot second, and that seeped outward into fiction of all sorts”. Here you go. A short story where enemy agents representing a strange ideology have compromised an entire American town to their fiendish ends. That’s it. That’s the whole entire plot. The tension is figuring out what exactly their ideology is. This time they’re not aliens, though!

2. I’ve read a whole lot of Philip K. Dick, and this made me appreciate Dick’s specific weirdo skill at evoking a crushing sense of the whole world being in a conspiracy against the protagonist. I dunno. Maybe I just like Dick’s writing better overall. But I can tell you that if you find this story interesting, Ubik and Time Out of Joint may intrigue you. (And I will apologize for Dick’s specific flaws as a writer ahead of time. He was really not very good at writing women, or men thinking about women.)

Come to think of it, that does bring up something else I’ve wanted to mention. X Minus One is overall good — if nothing else it’s a good sampler platter of 1950s science fiction — but of 127 broadcast episodes, just 2 are based on stories written by a woman. Two. And they’re both by the same author (Katherine MacLean, whose work I recommend). It’s not like there was a shortage of women writing science fiction… their stories just didn’t make it to this specific radio program. And there are some good science fiction stories written by women in the 1950s out there; as I work my way down my list of bookmarks, we will come to them in due turn.

Also, this isn’t my least favorite episode of X Minus One. That honor goes to “The Green Hills of Earth�� by Robert Heinlein, which has a heavy emphasis on fictional songs written by the protagonist. And they all suck.

[mdzs-owns-my-ass-i-guess]

As someone who writes quite a bit, I've noticed something that I think might explain some writers' struggles with getting words on paper, especially when it comes to translating imagery or a certain vibe that appears visually pleasing/captivating/dramatic etc in their minds, but is otherwise difficult to transform into words.

I think a lot of us imagine our plots or our scenes like one would a movie or an edit. Personally, that's what I've always done, my ideas come to me in cinematic form, with different camera angles, background music, dramatic close-ups, special effects and jump cuts.

Why is this happening? Here is my hypothesis:

It is probably due to the pervasiveness of video content in recent times (especially after the 2000s), and how a lot of us, especially in early childhood, made first contact with stories and storytelling primarily through visual media: cartoons, movies, plays etc - on account of us not having learned how to read yet. Most of us did not have a parent or a guardian to always read stories to us either - so our imaginations have been cultivated through visual media rather than the written word.

(Is this wrong? I don't know, and I doubt I myself am able to assess that. There are studies that show continual exposure to visuals via TV and other such media affects the way in which the brain functions and alters it. A simple Google Scholar search provides thousands of scholarly results on the topic, each with their own conclusions.)

This means we learn how to tell stories visually - and some of us never grow out of it. Of course, there is a great difference between the written word and the visual scene - a great read on the topic is Marshall McLuhan's "The Gutenberg Galaxy" or "The medium is the message" - so this very difference may actually be the cause of our struggles.

The way a scene is portrayed in writing is different from how it visually appears, no matter how hard one might try to replicate it. After all, words are only representations, symbols, of objects.

Is there a point to all this convulted rant? Not really, I just wanted to put this hypothesis down and perhaps revisit it when I feel like I've lost my ability to tell stories even if the picture in my head is clear.

Perhaps it might help other people too.

[caltropspress]

FEEDBACK LOOP #13: Devil on the Recto: Armand Hammer's "Codex Giga"

They are acts of insurrection. Their source is from the Silence at the center of each of us. Wherever and whenever such a whorl of patterned sound or space is established in the external world, the power that it contains generates new lines of force whose effects are felt for centuries.

—R. D. Laing, The Politics of Experience (1967)

Baby, you can step to this if you admire / The exxxtraordinary dapper rapper.

—Opio, Souls of Mischief, “93 ‘Til Infinity” (1993)

1.

“Codex Giga” manifests out of the thick and sultry air of a live performance—out of the residual whoosh and warp of a “Stonefruit” fadeout, still spiraling on its square. The drupe is stomped and squashed, but the pit is stubborner than a mthrfckr. Once the sweet softness, the outer skin, is scathed away, all we’ve got left to dissect is the pit. And “Codex Giga” drags us deep into the pit, pal.

2.  You wanna do another one?

ELUCID extricates himself from the live recording, from the stage setting, from a stranglehold of live wires. But the Sourcerer (circa Shortie, Minya Oh) carries the electric currents into the studio for an encore. And nope, we don’t even notice the transition through states of being. He harnesses live powers and prowess, watts out the wazoo. He tunes in to Channel Live and sparks mad izm. Armand Hammer, a too-live crew, if you will, and ELUCID is regularly as nasty as he wants to be. Don’t be shocked that “live” is life, as well—reproductivity. We don’t really need altars, but the mensa is splattered with that Almighty Jizzm. The Codex Giga, sonny, is an illasophic volume.

3.  A SHUTTERED TABERNACLE

Reading like Reverend Run-For-Your-Life from the Codex Giga, ELUCID bombs atomically—Mephistopheles’ philosophies and hypotheses. You’re using me, August Fanon’s sample accuses, that’s what you’re doing. But ELUCID shows no intentions of a sweet surrender. He’s begging for us to hear his side of the story, lifted from the pages of the Codex Giga—vellum leaves made of calfskin, so there’s sacrifice in those pages. And the Codex Giga [literally, a “giant book”] stands the size of a stubby child—a medieval manuscript from the 13th century. Ganked by Holy Roman Emperors and taken as war booty. Saved from a burning building only to flatten the man who it happened to fall on when thrown from a window. But now ELUCID has it in his clutches, abstracted from the annals of history. He’s got it shelved in the cosmos of consciousness, on the margins of the Gutenberg Galaxy. Flip the [manu]script.

If you ask me, his are the proper hands for the damned book to be in. ELUCID writes raps in Carolingian miniscule, and this wouldn’t be the first song he composed in the course of a single night, scribe-like, with a devil in an ermine loincloth lending help. The Codex Giga contains a bible, medical treatises, a book of knowledge, a calendar, necrology, tutorials, formulae for spells and incantations, so…an ELUCID album. While working at Sweden’s Royal Library, playwright August Strindberg would tease patrons about the powers the book possessed, asking them: Can you hear the voices? They speak with a split tongue.

4.

My philosophy: half “Come swallow me,” / Half recognizing the toxic ideology I was born into.

—“Fanon’s Ghost” (2017)

“You fuckin’ better,” ELUCID threatens, and threatens again (and again and again…), “you fuckin’ better.” From this angle, the better angels of one’s nature are outsmarted by better demons—wily and versatile. I hear that better penetrating my head and shortening to simply bet. That there’s the gambit—the Faustian bargain born out of dense air. Aight, bet. But…

Suck me till I’m dead. ELUCID makes it clear you better finish the job. Catch him in his shaman guise, soul-sucking demons through a hollowed bear femur. Breath control? He’s the very keeper of breath. Bless up. In female form, he’s Ammit—Ancient Egypt’s devourer of the dead. ELUCID, one supposes, has studied X Clan’s “In the Ways of the Scales”—tape deck exegesis on Sundays. Or maybe he’s a [willing?] victim of Ammit, or, even better [you fuckin’ better], a succubus. “Suck my dick and tell me I’m beautiful,” he demanded on woods’ “Magdalene,” daring to pull back the covers for us all to see. “How I wake up in her jaws been the usual,” he says, and it’s strangely more benevolent than boastful. Not like Toni Morrison’s Beloved who—in her succubus spiriting—siphons the semen out of Paul D, draining him of his drive—bone dry.

ELUCID introduces eroto-rap of the highest [dis-]order. “If there’s an ounce left,” he very seriously spits, “I’mma rise up, coming for your fucking head.” It’s all so highly, and hornily, sexually-charged. We’re zapped with more bounce to the ounce as he rises up with ultimate tumescence, coming for us like Diana Ross. He may as well sing soprano, belting I’m coming—I’m coming out! Sample it all, why don’t ya?—and circuit-bend until the stems make like suckling sounds. 

He’s armed with defenses for all comers, sucker MCs and succubi alike—true to Too $hort on “Cusswords.” “Sucker MCs are screaming loud,” $hort rapped, apparently putting his enemies in shouts of ecstasy. “Getting sucked by a bitch named Helen,” he added affirmatively. In Beloved, Sethe kills her baby, in part, to spare her the brutal rapes she herself had to endure. Sethe specifies her desire to spare her daughter a mossy-toothed white man sucking on her breasts. “The first intimations of nonbeing may have been the breast or mother as absent,” R. D. Laing writes in “The Experience of Negation.” “Winnicott writes of ‘the hole,’ the creation of nothing by devouring the breast. Bion relates the origin of thought to the experience of no-breast.” 

So much semiotics and somatic sucking going on here, and so little phallic semi-automatic shooting, swordplay, or stabbing. I was a dyke in a past life, ELUCID once claimed on “Pakistani Brain.”

5.  NEVER LET ME SLIP, ’CAUSE IF I SLIP, THEN I’M SLIPPIN’

Slip away, slip inside, / Surrender all.

—“Lambskin” (2018)

“Caught me slippin’,” ELUCID says as he extends empathy and randomness, “anybody could get it.” Of course he’s slipping, porn theater ushers have been oozing pestilence since 1999’s “My Imagination.” The floor is lavatory with specimens slicking the surface. No b-boy should ever deign to bodyrock on this lubricious linoleum. Henceforth, ELUCID’ll stand tall and rest his weight on a cemetery shovel in the style of Tommy Wright III (Track 4, “Caught U Slippin’” in the Walkman). Of Sex and Violence, KRS says the problem is immense. “Anybody could get it” could be the bullet or the pubic box. Word to Malcum X.

6.

Ain’t no half-steppin’, but “all of your steps are cursed, / Every plan you make reverses, collapses on itself.” Step on a crack, break your momma’s back, superstitiously. Blow your beloved’s back out—leave her with a bulging Discman latched to the hip. These “cursed steps”—tripping over one’s own feet, endlessly slippin’—are something like trying to scale M. C. Escher’s staircases. The steps “make reverses [and] collapses on itself.” Inspectah Deck might be smokin’, but ELUCID is breakin’ bones in the staircase. Doors misleadingly marked—404 Error Codes at each exit, each erogenous zone.

7.  SCARED TO LOOK

“Look at you,” ELUCID says, and John Berger’s Ways of Seeing (1972) comes into our field of vision:

One might simplify this by saying: men act and women appear. Men look at women. Women watch themselves being looked at. This determines not only most relations between men and women but also the relation of women to themselves. The surveyor of woman in herself is male: the surveyed female. Thus she turns herself into an object—and most particularly an object of vision: a sight.

These are the “sins of the father,” this ancestral curse of objectification. The Lord thy God purports to be a jealous God, visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon the children for generations (KJV, Exodus 20:5). The only option to break the curse, it seems: “smother unborn seed.” Once again: Suck me till I’m dead.

An “endless scream soundtracks sleep”—Edvard Munch in 1893 with the pause-tape scream: the shriek: the skrik. He felt the throb of an “infinite scream passing through nature,” and Nature’s rising, Keith sweatin’. On 1997’s “Feel My Nature Rize,” Brotha Lynch Hung’s opening salvo promised “bloodshot red eyes,” while ELUCID gushes “if you could never shut bloodshot eyes, cry for me.” The sibilance of “endless scream soundtracks sleep” releases a hypnotical hiss of ecstasy. 

8. 

And I never grab the mic without grabbin’ my…

—“Root Farm”

There’s a tungsten[/tongue-sten] steel tension to these warring factions, these competing interests, and in that tension we find a unity. For all threats of having one’s being swallowed whole, ELUCID transubstantiates into a “hammer hangin’ over your head.” In the hole, in that obstinate hollowed-out drupe pit, he’s a pendulum swinging (phallically, as it were). In ELUCID’s hands, Pete Seeger’s “If I Had a Hammer” converts into Paul Robeson baritone—rusty nails in a joey pouch—looking to hit it. Protest song turns prurient. Hammer in the morning, in the evening, all over this land—we’re talkin’ a real tantric session. Hours-long duration. ELUCID been on this since “Rehearse with Ornette,” where he quoted the folk ditty: I’d hammer out danger, I’d hammer out a warning…

9. 

We’re instructed to “argue with the dead if [we] want,” but that sounds like a raw deal—just like “argue” sounds like ague if I cuff my ears. But a fever would be fitting, because arguing the malevolent presences in our midst would have you “choke on your tongue.” Furthermore (as if that weren’t torture enough), “your lungs rot, [and] sulfur stench fill[s] the room.” No, this is not ideal. Jonah leashed Leviathan’s tongue, but woods told us on “Sir Benni Miles” the whale “swims with open jaws.” ELUCID sold off his other thousand selves “before the flood” on “Shammgod,” which is when he “learn[ed] to ride the whale like Jonah in the OT.” Hormones rage against the machine, still, so you might just swallow your tongue as you seize—a classic case of epileptic concupiscence, a bad case of Harlem shakes and convulsions. Ecstatic shudders and involuntary movements followed by an electric relaxation, a post-coital bliss. Mike Ladd called from Paris and said the French call it la petite mort—giving oneself over to the succubus suck. Die, motherfucker, die motherfucker, die—but just a little.

Loss of breath leads to lung-rot. The “sulfur stench” tells us the sibilant hiss still reverberates, now with an added devilish scent. “Filled the [bed]room” to the brim with brimstone, and—it’s fair to say—the musk of bodily fluids, the beast-with-two-backs juices. “The pleasure’s all mutual,” ELUCID raps on “Lambskin.” Who’s objectifying whom? Who possesses whom? What I see is a yab-yum U-N-I-T-Y, that’s a unity. If ELUCID speaks of ��infinite replays of your misdeed using me,” then I suppose that’s how he chills from ’93 ’til… After all, he seems to revel in the pain/pleasure duality: You fucking better. We might balk at his willingness, but we’d be wrongheaded. “It is assumed that if a person is mad (whatever that means),” writes Laing, “then ipso facto he is ill (whatever that means). The experience that a person may be absorbed in, while to others he appears simply ill-mad, may be for him veritable manna from heaven.” ELUCID is, as we say around here, mad ill.

10.  A GREAT DEVOURER’S STILL FEEDIN’

A great devourer’s still feedin’. A great devourer’s still feedin’. A great devourer’s still feedin’. A great devourer’s still feedin’. A great devourer’s still feedin’. A great devourer’s still feedin’. A great devourer’s still feedin’. A great devourer’s still feedin’. A great devourer’s still feedin’. A great devourer’s still feedin’. A great devourer’s still feedin’. A great devourer’s still feedin’. A great devourer’s still feedin’. A great devourer’s still feedin’. 

“Codex Giga,” inarguably (I won’t have it) brings us one of ELUCID’s mightiest mantras yet. Or, rather, monstras. [The Sanskrit “sacred message” of mantra + the Latin “divine omen” of monstrum.] Monstra, recall, was the whale in Disney’s Pinocchio (1940). Swallow or spit—destiny dances before us. Be real: we’re one with the krill. The jaws open wide like the maw of hell: THE HELLMOUTH! I see no easy way out. Refer back to the Codex Giga table of contents, and read deep into the night, kiddies.

Images:

Jizzm, Illasophic Volume 1.5, CD album cover, 1998 (detail) | Mephistopheles appearing to Doctor Faustus, (source unknown) | Caretaker Gustavsson with the Codex Gigas in the showroom at the National Library (1929) | Tommy Wright III, Ashes 2 Ashes, Dust 2 Dust, cassette J-card (1994) | John Berger, Ways of Seeing, page 42-43 (1972) | Illustrations from “Le avventure di Pinocchio, storia di un burattino,” by Carlo Collodi (1902) | Miniature from the Hours of Catherine of Cleves, Morgan Library & Museum, (MS M.945, f. 107r) | Jizzm, Illasophic Volume 1.5, CD album cover, 1998 (detail)

[threetreetrois]

"In 1799 the meter was deposited in the Archives nationales in Paris. The standard measure of the Gutenberg Galaxy is archived in Blaker: 23.566 mm at 16.25 °C. "

z (oo) m + – books in motion

[disturbing-reflections]

“The Gothic wall seems to be porous: light filters through it, permeating it, merging with it, transfiguring it. Light, which is ordinarily concealed by matter, appears as the active principle; and matter is aesthetically real only insofar as it.”  -McLuhan, The Gutenberg Galaxy The Making of Typographic Man

[rh35211]

The number 42, in The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams, is the answer calculated by an enormous super-advanced computer named Deep Thought after seven and a half million years of thought.

Since the book’s publication in 1978, the number 42 has become an essential geek icon in popular culture, readers have struggled to figure out the profound and mystic sense of the number 42 ever since.

For programmers, 42 is the number 101010 in binary code and the asterisk in the ASCII table, which is wildcard for everything.

In Japanese culture, 42 is considered unlucky because the numerals when pronounced separately sound like the word “dying”.

The Gutenberg Bible is also known as the “42-line Bible”, as the book contained 42 lines per page.

The three best-selling albums of all time, Thriller by Michael Jackson, Back in Black by AC/DC and The Dark Side of the Moon, are 42 minutes long each.

Lewis Carroll, who was a mathematician, made repeated use of the number 42 in his writing, for instance Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland has 42 illustrations.

“42” is an episode of Doctor Who, that lasts 42 minutes.

In Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker, the Festival of the Ancestors is held every 42 years. The film itself, the last film on the Skywalker’s Star Wars saga, was released 42 years after the 1977 original Star Wars film.

Light refracts through a water surface by 42 degrees to create a rainbow.

42 was the number worn by Jackie Robinson and the only number retired by all Major League Baseball teams. In 2004, MLB declared April 15th as Jackie Robinson’s day and in honor to the player, on this day all uniformed personnel wear the number 42. There is also a film based on Jackie Robinson’s career named “42”.

42 has also been the inspiration to name the educational model and computer programming school 42Madrid. In 42, books and rules are substituted with peer-to-peer collaboration and the learning and growing of the student is driven by self-motivation.The key in 42 is to learn how to learn, and ultimately, how to be resourceful and problem solve.

References to the number 42 are endless. Funny thing is when Douglas Adams was asked in an interview about the meaning of 42, he answered:

“The answer to this is very simple. It was a joke. It had to be a number, an ordinary, smallish number, and I chose that one. Binary representations, base thirteen, Tibetan monks are all complete nonsense. I sat at my desk, stared into the garden and thought ’42 will do’ I typed it out. 42 is a nice number that you can take home and introduce to your family. End of story.”

[berlinmindmap]

Commonplace_v6

Marshall McLuhan

Duchamp 

The mechanical bride

Gutenberg galaxy

Understanding media

Medium is the massage

“The global village”

“Extension of man”

Figure ground relation (gestalt psychology) medium operates through its ground

Medium is the massage 

Focus of media and not just their content

scott mccloud understanding comics

Example : electric light

History of light 

Modern night life

Otto dix metropolis 

— 

Dark matter 

Gentlemonster shop shanghai interior -They admire such things, but I don't know, I see it from a different perspective. It might be worthless, but I have a different viewpoint.

Erwin Piscator

F. W. Murnau

Typophoto ?

Bauhaus museum want to go so bad !

Media ecology 

[captainmdhridoyhossain-blog]

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[thirdity]

Language is metaphor in the sense that it not only stores but translates experience from one mode into another.

Marshall McLuhan, The Gutenberg Galaxy

[markwatsonsbooks]

#Amreading: The Post-Apocalyptic Sci-Fi and New York Times Bestseller... 

Battlefield Earth: A Saga of the Year 3000 by L. Ron Hubbard 

Audie Award Winner Earphones Award Winner Best of 2016 Science Fiction Audiobook

Battlefield Earth is an enormous epic of adventure set in the year 3000, when the future survival of what's left of the human race is at stake. When Jonnie Goodboy Tyler decides to venture out of the small and dwindling community of humans barely surviving in their Rocky Mountain retreat, he has no thought of challenging the order that for a thousand years has held the earth prisoner to the oppressive alien race of the Psychlos.

The Psychlos and their vast intergalactic mining corporation have dominated and exploited all known galaxies for centuries, ruthlessly destroying races who dare to resist. How one man - with the aid of a few surviving Scotsmen—tackles the greatest malignant power in the universe makes for a sprawling adventure of thrilling heroics, full of dangerous underground work, interplanetary wars, intergalactic financial intrigue, monster races, and complex political manipulation spread across a vast canvas of epic scale.

Experience the unabridged audiobook in fully immersive HD sound of the story that changed the shape of science fiction forever. Performed by over 65 actors playing 198 characters with 150,000 sound effects.

“The sheer scope of this production of the epic sci-fi adventure Battlefield Earth is breathtaking.” (Stefan Rudnicki)

“This futuristic tale, featuring aliens and humans fighting for survival, comes across as compelling and believable.” (Booklist)

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“A vivid movie of the mind!” (Audio File Magazine)

Unlike any other audiobook ever produced. A fully immersive experience, this unabridged audiobook features more than 65 actors including Grammy Award-winning audiobook producer and narrator Stefan Rudnicki.

This state-of-the-art audio engineering has created a wholly cinematic soundtrack with:

47½ hours of pulse-pounding drama and action professionally recorded with high-definition sound.

A gorgeous cinematic soundtrack with full orchestral compositions and more than 150,000 sound effects.

A cast of more than 65 actors - many of whom are celebrity voices from TV, films, and games - performing 198 characters.

Awards and Accolades: Top 100 science fiction books

Top three of the best 100 English language novels of the 20th century by the Random House Modern Library Readers Poll

US Golden Scroll and Saturn Awards

Tetradramma d'Oro Award

Gutenberg Award

Listen to the novel that changed the shape of science fiction.

Additional performers include: Roy Abramsohn, Corey Burton, Nancy Cartwright, Bob Caso, R. F. Daley, Charles Davis, Neil Dickson, Ellen Dubin, Jim Meskimen, Tamra Meskimen, Michael Gough, Kaleo Griffith, Christina Huntington, Larrs Jackson, Don Leslie, Ralph Lister, Mark Mintz, Phil Nee, Joe Ochman, Mr. Phil Proctor, Enn Reitel, Patrick Renna, Alan Shearman, Thomas Silcott, Tadao Tomomatsu, Bob Walter, Matt Wolf, Robert Wu, Michael Yurchak, Gregory Lee Kenyon, Darren Richardson, Jason Wilburn, Rick Zieff, and Roger Steffens.    

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[pyroliso]

Les designers graphiques en itinérance est une recherche questionnant le voyage en tant que graphiste. Il a pour fil conducteur le projet Galaxy Gutenberg réalisé par le collectif Super Terrain ainsi que plusieurs autres projets (Zines of the Zone, Perambulating Bookshop, From the Page to the City : The Mobile Library…) traitant de la conception d'éditions liées à un contexte particulier. Il est également question du mode d'impression en risographie et comment cette technique fédère une véritable communauté autour d'elle notamment avec la plateforme Stencil Wiki ou encore la biennale Magical Riso. Par ailleurs, cette recherche interroge l'auto-édition en tant que moyen de transmission réciproque de savoir-faire à travers l'analyse de dispositifs de pédagogies alternatives (Summer School de Ravisius Textor), ou encore la pratique du colportage.

[spaceintruderdetector]

https://archive.org/details/part3_202301/02%20the-gutenberg-galaxy-the-making-of-typographic-man--annas-archive--libgenrs-nf-748162/

[chaoticambivalence]

A point of view can be a dangerous luxury when substituted for insight and understanding.

Marshall McLuhan - The Gutenberg Galaxy

[jareckiworld]

Liviu Stoicoviciu  -   Gutenberg Galaxy   (oil on canvas, 1970)

[noosphe-re]

Man the tool-making animal, whether in speech or in writing or in radio, has long been engaged in extending one or another of his sense organs in such a manner as to disturb all of his other senses and faculties.

Marshall McLuhan, The Gutenberg Galaxy